Page 37 of Broken Ties
I’m once again writhing in vicious, violent jealousy for Gryphon’s Neuro Gift, consuming me with such force that he picks up on it instantly and cuts off his conversation with his sister to snap at me, “Whatever bullshit is on your phone has nothing to do with me, so stop glaring at me. Besides, if anyone’s allowed to be an asshole here, it’s me. I don’t need any more rest, and Idefinitelydon’t need Nox babysitting me.”
Kyrie glances between the two of us, her brows pinching in a little. “Kieran said the bed rest was precautional—if there’s no threat, why would you need a guard as well?”
Shit.
Holding a hand up, I cut Gryphon off before he can curse me out fully. “Nox wasn’t here guarding, he was making sure your brother followed the Healer’s instructions—and before you chew me out, Shore, remember that I’d happily move Kyrie in here to take over if you’re going to kick up this much of a fuss about it all.”
The only thing more effective than using Kyrie’s worry as reason to comply is threatening Gryphon with her care, because he’d never get away with any of his petulance with her. They’re close, the type of relationship I once hoped to share with Nox, but with the fraught tension and power dynamics within their family, they’ve always been fiercely protective of each other.
It’s very telling that she hasn’t met our Bond yet.
More so that she hasn’t asked about her in my presence or demanded answers. When she found out our Bond had disappeared from the hospital room when we first found her, Gryphon was still in college but she was already serving in the TacTeams. The General made every attempt to impede our search for her, but Kyrie fought him every step of the way, even weeding out the operatives loyal to him first to make up a team of her own without official authorization. In the months it took me to wrest control of the TacTeams from the council, Kyrie’s response team was pulling extra shifts and moonlighting for me. Gryphon and Kieran were both brought on board under her guidance, trained by our most trusted operatives, and gained valuable experience all while they searched.
My phone buzzes again with yet another long and pointless description, this time of the dorm room stairwell and why they’re a danger to the students using them everyday. I finally reply to her, a curt and short confirmation that I’ll see to the safety issues, and I make the mistake of muttering furiously under my breath as I do.
When I glance up, I find Kyrie grinning at me, the gleam in her eyes a little too conspiratorial for my liking, but when I send her a warning look, she only cackles at me. “What a time to be alive. I get to watch North Draven find his true calling as a brat tamer.”
I almost choke to death on my coffee.
My childhood within the oppressive confines of the Draven household saves me, and I manage to swallow an entire mouthful of scalding coffee with little more than watering eyes. Additionally, the burns distract my throat from the hacking fit it was about to descend into. Instead, slipping death’s grasp only requires clearing my throat. With a droll look cast at Kyrie as I stalk out, it might be too late to feign indifference, but my pride stays intact even in my retreat.
I thought the day couldn’t possibly get any worse, but I’m only halfway through my day filled with meetings before I’m forced to concede. Instead of the usual petty games of the council meetings I was expecting, I’m sent out into the non-Gifted community to speak to their officials about the rising death toll. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that another war is brewing among the Gifted population, and I’d hate to think of what it would be like to be so defenseless.
How do you fight back against a Flame capable of incinerating entire city blocks in under a minute? Or an Elemental who violently draws the water out of your cells, ensuring your death is a gruesome implosion that will traumatize any witnesses for years to come?
How could anyone think to survive a Death Dealer?
Their fears aren’t just reasonable, they’re basic human survival instincts, and there’s an itch crawling across my skin in frustration before I make it into the restaurant for lunch with Hannity and Rockelle. The dismissive way they both speak to the non-Gifted skates dangerously close to common Resistance ideology, the bullshit they use as propaganda to dig into the minds of Gifted and mold them into the grunt soldiers they need as cannon fodder.
I’m planning out exactly how I’m going to deal with them both and put them on notice when my phone buzzes in my pocket again, only this time, it’s the insistent pattern of a phonecall. The messages from my Bond have continued all day, her determination strangely commendable, but she’s never tried to call before.
The team watching her every move haven’t flagged any dangers or threats, so it’s no doubt something inconsequential and I’m already in a foul mood. Nothing about what’s eating at me today is her fault, but the way my bond is constantly in a revolt against me is, and I can’t help but snap at her.
I answer the call in a curt tone, “I’m about to walk into a meeting, Fallows. This isn’t a good time.”
Her voice is deceptively calm down the line, not at all what I’m expecting. “That’s fine, I’ll be quick. Gabe has a football game tonight, and I’d like to attend it. Sage is going and we’re going to grab hot dogs and bad game food there. I just need to know that you’re not going to send a TacTeam in to grab me from the stands while I’m watching the game.”
A swift refusal balances on the edge of my tongue, followed by a demand to go back to the dorms without delay, but a murmur behind me brings me to an abrupt halt. Turning on my heel, I find Sharpe now sitting at the table alongside Hannity and Rockelle. All three are staring at me without any pretense, but while the two idiots are hanging on my every word as though it’s their fate on the table right now and not my Bond’s, Sharpe is soaking in every inch of tension in my body as if it’s fueling the flame of his convictions. The man is a Resistance spy, a sympathizer who won’t yet admit to the world that he’s complicit in their horrifying acts of violence, and he’ll use any scrap of dissent to harm my Bond given a sliver of a chance.
My bond pushes to the forefront of my mind, the whispered demands for action now a thrumming call to arms.
Bathe in their blood.
Consume their flesh and rend them limb from limb.
Kill them all.
The grip on my control slips as the inky blackness of my shadows overwhelms my mind. All I know is the relentless need to protect my Bond, to let the rabid nightmares within me devour our enemies whole and to take her away from every threat that dares to exist within her proximity. She belongs to me, to no one else, no other can covet what is mine?—
Down the phone line, my Bond takes a long and very defeated breath, and my clarity returns so abruptly that I actually jolt on my feet as though struck.
Scrambling to sound normal and not like I’ve just come close to destroying everything I’ve worked my entire life for at the mere suggestion of another Giftedlookingat her, I’m still curt and abrupt with her. “Fine. I’ll keep a close eye on you, and Gabe will meet you after the game and get you back to your dorms. If this is an attempt to run away again, I am going to make your life miserable.”
Her seething rage in the slight pause before she answers me is like a balm over the lasting effects of my bond’s rage. “You mean like it’s not already?”
Jaw tightening as the line goes dead, the room seems to be holding its breath as I take my seat. Even Sharpe looks far less smug from across the table, gulping when I level a dark look at him that clearly screams of his impending death at my hands if he so much as breathes near my Bond.
With another deep breath, I shove at the monster living within me until I’m sure my eyes aren’t about to void out and send the entire building into mass panic. When I’m sure I’m back under my own control, I flag down the waitperson. I might not be able to truly drink away the nightmare of today, but one drink will have to suffice for now.